


Touch

by Socrates7727



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boundaries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 21:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socrates7727/pseuds/Socrates7727
Summary: The list of people Draco considered friends was very short, but the list of people allowed to touch Draco was even shorter. Blaise Zabini, his best friend, could touch him. But no one else. When someone breaks that rule, though, Draco can't help obsessing over it... And the Gryffindor who did it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 337





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own HP or any of the characters! Enjoy!

Draco didn’t have many friends. Crabbe and Goyle were henchmen, not friends, and while Pansy and Theo considered him a friend he couldn’t say that it went both ways. The one, and only, person Draco let himself lean on was his best friend—only friend—Blaise Zabini. Not many people knew, especially because they’d spent their first few years at Hogwarts putting distance between themselves, but Draco and Blaise had grown up together. Their mothers had been friends before either had even gotten married, let alone pregnant. They’d been born less than two months apart and, given their similar social and political status, the families had spent a considerable amount of time together.

Draco’s first memory was of Blaise. It shocked him, sometimes, how fundamental the boy had become in his life from such a young age. He could remember the Zabini’s coming over to the Manor, could remember their parents sitting down around the dinner table and discussing things over wine. Their mothers, ushering the two boys off to play in another room while they talked. Something had happened that Draco couldn’t remember and their fathers had been upset, for some reason, so the dinner had gone on for much longer than planned. He remembered a house elf telling them to sleep.

They’d been exhausted, or maybe he was just imagining that, but it’d been late and Draco had curled up in one of the arm chairs near the fireplace, watching Blaise amuse himself with the toys they’d brought out. His mind remembered being cold, feeling his eyelids start to droop. Their fathers, yelling, and their mothers trying to appease the men or at least calm them for a discussion again. It still managed to surprise Draco, even now. But he remembered the feeling of a small, warm little body joining him in the armchair, curling around him and squeezing into place. That had been the first time anyone had ever touched him, aside from his parents.

Even now, it often felt like Draco was being dramatic when he thought of it that way but that didn’t make it any less true. His father’s touch was cold and unforgiving, as was Mr. Zabini’s. Their mothers were warm and loving when they were young, and especially in private, but they seemed to wean the boys off of that as they got older. And, to everyone’s surprise, the boys turned to each other.

Blaise was the only friend who’d ever been allowed to hug him, even when he was a child, and Blaise was the only person who ever dared to touch Draco in any kind of comforting gesture—even just a hand on his shoulder. They were very close, to the point that their families had sat them down and talked to them about arranged marriages. Neither had realized it at the time but now they laughed at their parents for feeling the need to enforce that heterosexuality. Their parents had thought they were gay for each other.

Now, it was just funny more than anything because they were incredibly close but they’d never been anything more than platonic. The touching, in particular, seemed to always make people assume it was romantic, especially because Draco was so strict about who touched him and how, but it was just because Blaise was… Blaise. He was the one Draco had chased around the Manor as a child, pretending to be an auror. Blaise was the one Draco had had sleepovers with, the one Draco had gone on adventures with and gotten in trouble with, and Blaise was the one who always had his back. And the young Zabini was also the one who’d crawled into Draco’s bed at night whenever he had nightmares.

They’d been inseparable as children. But, Lucius had walked in on them together in Draco’s bed one too many times and that friendship had been severed by their parents. Too close, his mother had said, they needed other friends too. Draco had cried that night for hours because he’d lost his best friend, his brother, and the one person in the entire world who loved him unconditionally. Their parents had been persistent, though, and stronger so they’d stayed apart for the following two years.

At Hogwarts, neither of them seemed to know what to do. They’d both been sorted into Slytherin, to Draco’s relief, and they chose beds next to each other but they hardly spoke or interacted. For the most part, Blaise pretended not to know him and Draco returned the favor. But, by their fourth year, that wall between them had so many cracks it was basically nonexistent and Draco had woken up in a cold sweat again, breathing hard from a nightmare. Out of habit, he’d glanced to the bed beside him. Blaise was awake, though, and the second their eyes met Draco could tell this time was different. Something had changed.

Draco had turned his back to the other boy like they’d established a routine of doing, trying to ignore the fact that he was clearly upset, but he nearly screamed when he felt the bed shift under someone else’s weight. An old, familiar warmth settled against his back and an arm snaked around him to rest on his chest. Instantly, Draco was five years old again.

“Breathe, Dray.” He obeyed, letting Blaise rest his hand on his pale, shaky chest so he could focus on his heart rate. It was an easy warmth that settled into his joints, smoothing the jerky panic. Familiar, if nothing else, and easy. Draco lifted his hand from where he was clutching the bedsheets in white fists and gently covered the darker hand on his chest, holding it there a little more firmly. Blaise was safe.

“M’sorry.” But Blaise shook his head and just settled a little more securely onto the bed with him. Draco had always been smaller than his best friend, having inherited his father’s slim figure and lithe movements while Blaise had inherited broad shoulders and strength. The difference was much more apparent, now, though than when they were kids. Strangely, it didn’t disrupt their rhythm or interfere. It actually helped, in a weird way, because Blaise could almost absorb him into his own body and shield him from the nightmare.

“Missed you, Dray.” Draco smiled, shifting to make sure Blaise didn’t get a mouthful of his hair.

“Don’t tell my dad, mkay?” They both laughed, but Draco fell asleep soon after that into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. He hadn’t slept like that in years…

* * *

From that point on, they’d been close again—though they were very careful to be discreet with anything more than a ‘normal’ friendly touch. But people noticed almost immediately, especially other Slytherins, because Draco was so particular about physical contact. Even just touching Draco’s shoulder in greeting drew hundreds of eyes on them. They were waiting for Draco to deck him or curse him or something, as if anyone would ever dare to use a gesture like that if it wasn’t explicitly already allowed. He didn’t, though, and they transitioned so seamlessly that people quickly moved on.

Snape noticed, though Draco had his suspicions that it’d been less in his capacity as a professor and more as the blond’s godfather. Neither boy had any doubt that their actions were being reported back to their fathers. But, no letters came. So they continued and were just careful around adults or people who knew their parents.

Draco could count on one hand the number of times someone other than Blaise or his parents had touched him over the last five years. Three of those times had been Snape, who still refused to believe that Draco’s discomfort also applied to him, and one had been Granger punching him in the face. The last one had been none other than Harry James Potter.

He understood why Granger had punched him—though he still whined about it when he could—but Potter was a mystery. A fucking irritating mystery. It hadn’t even been an aggressive or unexpected touch, either, which made Blaise shoot him funny looks for at least a week because Draco was a professional. Paranoid, Blaise usually called it, and yet the other Slytherin did it too. Draco had mastered the technique of casually sidestepping any kind of contact without anyone ever noticing. And, when necessary, he could turn his silver eyes to steel and sear nothing short of terror into whoever tried to touch him that that was not, and would not ever be, allowed.

Potter, though… Potter had put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, almost unconsciously, when he’d moved behind him in Potions one day the way people normally did just to say  _ hey don’t back into me _ . Draco hadn’t even noticed it and, if Blaise and Snape hadn’t both shot him incredulous looks, he probably wouldn’t ever have. It was tiny, typical gesture—nothing special. And yet, Draco couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever done something like that to him, even unintentionally.

“Dude, why didn’t you freak out on him?” He glared Blaise into silence across the Potions’ table, but it was clear his best friend was not about to let it go. Maybe he felt threatened, Draco thought. Or maybe he thought something was seriously wrong with Draco because the one rule he’d been enforcing since they were five years old had suddenly been broken—and Draco hadn’t even noticed. The blond would explain later, to anyone who mentioned it, that Harry’s hand had been so light, that Draco hadn’t even felt the touch, but that wasn’t true. He’d felt it, let it register, and for some reason… not been bothered?

“Drop it, Blaise.” Blaise wouldn’t drop it—Draco knew that as well as anyone—but the message was clear enough to make him stop.  _ Wait until we’re alone _ . So Blaise had waited until their roommates had fallen asleep that night. He’d charmed his own bed curtains not to be opened, and slipped beneath Draco’s to curl against his back, muttering another locking spell on the blond’s curtains. Draco had said the silencing charm.

“You didn’t freak out.”

“No, I didn’t.” Blaise curled into him, thankfully, so Draco could breathe in the familiar warmth and relax a bit. He wasn’t going to lie to his best friend, especially not like this, and he’d been preparing himself all day for this exact line of questioning but he still didn’t know what to say.

“Why not?” That was the core issue of it all. Draco couldn’t prepare himself to answer that question, no matter how hard he tried, because he simply didn’t know.

“No clue.” And, for the first time in a while, Draco was glad that Blaise knew him so well because the other Slytherin heard the genuine frustration and confusion in his voice and didn’t pry for more. He knew Draco wasn’t hiding anything or lying, so he didn’t keep asking questions neither of them would be able to answer. Draco liked that about him

“Did you think it was me?” That was a good question, he supposed, because he hadn’t considered that, even unconsciously, he might have dismissed the touch as Blaise’s. But he’d been across the table from the other Slytherin, looking right at him.

“No, I knew it was Potter. I knew it was him, but it still felt like you? That doesn’t make sense, I know, but it registered the same way your touch does in my mind. Like I knew he was touching me, it just felt...”

“Familiar?” No, it didn’t have the same kind of ancientness to it or the same memories attached.

“Safe.”


	2. Chapter 2

Draco had always been pretty, in Harry’s mind. He’d always had the appearance of something delicate and precious, like a fairy or an ornate antique... But he'd never been beautiful.

Beautiful was the way Cedric tousled his hair to dry it after a swim in the lake. Beautiful was the way that Luna smiled and pet the thestrals. Beautiful was even the way that Blaise’s complexion glowed in low lit rooms, as if he was sucking all the light in and only letting a little back out. But beautiful was not Draco Malfoy.

Until the blond was sitting on the floor in the library, bent over a book and completely deaf to the world around him. Until he was crying in the middle of the night, when Harry only heard him because the entire rest of the castle was dead asleep. Until he rolled up his sleeves in potions and accidentally showed the tiniest bit of a tattoo, and the hundreds of thin white lines he had scarred through it.

Draco Malfoy had always been pretty, in a far off, untouchable kind of way. His skin was too perfect to be real and his hair was unattainably well behaved. Everything about him seemed too good to be true, too pretty to be human, and it was. But, as Harry sat in the corner of the library and watched the blond scribble away at a piece of parchment, completely unaware that he was being observed, Harry felt a stab of realization. Draco Malfoy had never been beautiful because, to him, Draco Malfoy had never been  _ real _ . But this Draco—the one who wore long sleeves on hot days, the one who wrote furiously at the randomest times as if inspiration had finally struck, the one who laughed at Harry's jokes and apologized in that quiet little voice whenever he bumped into someone—this Draco was real.

And god he was  _ beautiful _ . 

Harry wanted to reach out and run his fingers through that messy blond hair like he could run his fingers through his soul. He wanted to talk—really talk—and he wanted to hear everything the Slytherin had ever held back. His fingers ached to touch the scars, or even just to touch. Part of him wondered if Draco would let him, or if he would jerk away in disgust and sneer some kind of insult like the old Draco would have.

“Potter.” Dammit! Harry whirled, hand already on his wand, but the Slytherins were uncharacteristically calm and… there were only two of them? Strangely enough, Pansy Parkinson had become more of a threat over the last couple months than any of the males. That didn’t make them safe by any means, though. 

“What do you want?” Immediately, Blaise held up his hands. Draco didn’t—he didn’t even show his hands, or his wand—but Harry was already on to the next thing in his mind. Why didn’t his subconscious consider Draco a threat? 

“Hey, relax. We’re here for another reason, actually. A more… private reason. Can we talk?” It was Draco who spoke. His gut wanted to agree but Harry knew that was a horrible idea, obviously, so he managed to stop his mouth before it ran away from him. 

“Forgive me, but I don’t exactly trust your intentions. We stay in a public place, but you can cast a muffling charm on the conversation. Deal?” The two Slytherins hesitated, glanced at each other, and then nodded. Surprise, surprise… Honestly, he’d been expecting them to protest and demand to talk in a private place so whatever prank or trick they were planning would work. Was it possible that they actually just wanted to talk?

“ _ Muffliato _ ,” Blaise glanced around, as if ensuring that the charm had worked, but Harry couldn’t help being on edge still. This was not how their typical interactions went, which meant either something had gone horribly wrong or they had a common enemy, though he couldn’t think of anyone to fit that bill. 

“What’s this about?” He looked at Blaise when he said it because the darker Slytherin seemed to be the one spearheading this… whatever this was. It was Draco, though, who spoke.

“You touched me.” Oh no. Was this some kind of twisted revenge? Some silent kind of torture that wouldn’t manifest physically but would require shouting for help? The blond saw his anxiety, clearly, but merely looked at him and Harry couldn’t help but get the distinct impression that it was tit for tat. That Draco was just as anxious, but much better at hiding it, and wasn’t eager to give him an advantage like calmness. 

“What?”

“In Potions. You touched me when you wanted to pass by.” Okay… Harry officially did not know what was going on. The blond looked completely calm but somehow he just  _ knew _ that wasn’t true and Blaise looked nothing short of intrigued, which was rare. He’d only ever seen Zabini look at quidditch plays with that much interest.

“I’m sorry, I guess, but… I barely even brushed you, so what?” 

“So, he didn’t freak out.” Blaise, that time. Draco glared at his partner in crime but he’d already caught Harry’s attention. Freak out? Was what that supposed to mean? This entire conversation was burning like acid beneath his skin and he was beginning to think that he shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place, but Draco looked just as uncomfortable. For some reason that… helped? Why did the blond being equally anxious help his own uneasiness?

“I don’t like to be touched. Usually, it produces rather… unpleasant results. Blaise wants to know why I didn’t hex you like I normally would have.” Hex him? Since when did Draco hex people who tried to touch him? He was sure that he’d seen other Slytherins hanging off of the blond or at least touching him in a casual, friendly way before but… had he? The more he thought about it, the more he questioned that memory. Blaise touched the blond, but had he ever seen anyone else do it?

“Why didn’t you, then?” Draco just shook his head, though, and glanced to Blaise for reassurance.

“I honestly don’t know.” For the second time since seeing the Slytherins, Harry hesitated. This felt surreal, like it was some kind of dream or fantasy that couldn’t possibly be real. A trick, maybe? But then why the muffling charm? And why did Draco keep inching closer to Blaise as if the broader man was going to protect him somehow? Did he think _ Harry _ was a threat?

“So… what do you want me to do about that?” The two Slytherins shared another glance, somehow speaking without actually speaking, but it was Blaise who opened his mouth. Maybe Draco had lost his nerve?

“We want to test it and we want your help. No tricks, no traps, and no one else involved. Deal?” It was a horrible, horrible idea. Harry knew that, and he yet still found himself considering it. Was he really just that bad at making good life choices? Or was his intuition trying to trust the situation?

“Okay… But the second I don’t like this I’m backing out.  _ And _ I’m bringing backup,” Both Slytherins moved to protest, but Harry wasn’t done. “No, you have each other and I want someone there in case this is all some setup for a duel or something.”

“Not the Weasel.” As much as Harry wanted to argue that point, or even the way that Draco sneered over the name like it was some kind of swear, he knew that having Ron there would not be a step in the direction of peace. No, he needed someone who didn’t have a horrible bloody axe to grind with the blond. 

“No, not Ron. If you really want to test this, then you two being at each other’s throats won’t help the situation. Hermione.” Draco glared, but Blaise nodded. 

“Done. Make sure she understands the confidential nature of this little experiment and meet us in the West Dungeons tonight after everyone’s in bed.” Oh God, he was actually doing this. Some part of Harry had thought that they’d back out or change their minds if he demanded backup but they were completely serious. This was actually happening?

“Are you crazy? I’m not going anywhere near Snape’s quarters, or any other professor for that matter. How about the Astronomy Tower? No one ever goes up there and Filch never wants to climb all those stairs to search it.” It didn’t occur to him until he’d closed his mouth that he’d made it a suggestion, not a demand. Were they actually having a civil conversation? Surely, this was some kind of twisted nightmare or potion-induced hallucination, right?

“Alright. The Astronomy Tower, tonight after curfew. Bring Granger but no one else. 

===

Harry honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. Hermione had agreed rather quickly to join him, but only because Ron had come back into the room and he’d had to kick her under the table to get her to shut up. Curiosity had always been her downfall, anyways. So, she followed him to the Astronomy Tower with very little explanation and even fewer questions, shockingly, and they entered the room in silence. Draco and Blaise were already there, surrounded by four or five glowing orbs of light. 

“Potter. Granger.” Harry was kidding himself if he thought his name had been said with slightly less venom than Hermione’s had been, but it still seemed that way at first. Maybe…? No, there was no use kidding himself. This was an experiment, not a friendship in the making, and he would only be hurting himself if he even considered other possibilities. 

“Malfoy. Zabini.” With the greetings over and done with, it seemed the only thing left was to actually do the test. Come to think of it, how did they even plan on testing this particular issue? Were they just going to… hold hands or something? 

“Granger, I trust you understand the secretive nature of this,” She nodded once, surprisingly quiet, and Blaise continued. “Alright then. Just to really seal the deal we’re going to make a vow of secrecy. If everyone would raise their wands…” They did, though Harry had not been expecting an actual vow to be made and had no idea why he was trusting them. He didn’t hold back, though, and they each repeated the vow in turn. God, they were really doing this… 

“Okay, what now?” Draco glanced back at Blaise, suddenly giving the impression of a frightened animal, but ultimately nodded. Was that supposed to be some kind of cue? Apparently, it was because Blaise stepped up beside him and placed a hand on the small of his back like some kind of guiding force. 

“You’re okay, Drake. I got you.” Draco nodded, but Harry was transfixed by the sudden emotion in his face. In all their years of schooling, he’d seen maybe four different emotions manage to leak into the blond’s expression and none of them were pleasant or long-lasting. Now, though, there was like an entire ocean of different emotions in those eyes. Had Draco always had grey eyes? Harry could have sworn they were blue but he could have sworn a lot of things about the blond, lately, and they were slowly turning out to be wrong. 

“What do you want me to do?” Slowly, like his body was dreading whatever was coming next, Draco raised his right hand and held it in the air between them. Was he supposed to take it or something? He looked to Blaise, trying to find some kind of instruction or reassurance, but the other Slytherin just nodded to the hand. Given the way they both talked about physical contact, Harry was hesitant to just straight up take Draco’s hand—besides, it looked like Blaise was preparing for some kind of panic attack and he didn’t want to spark that. Instead, he lifted a hand and just trailed his fingers over Draco’s palm. 

Immediately, Draco stiffened. It was as if Harry had shocked him the second their skin connected and he nearly twisted away, but Blaise stopped him with a reassuring little nudge. Bit by bit, Draco started to relax. Harry was very aware of Hermione standing just a few feet to his left, watching the entire exchange with that scientific gaze that she usually reserved for textbooks. Did this look absolutely ridiculous? He was sure that it did, and he knew that it did, but for some reason it didn’t  _ feel _ ridiculous. It felt real. 

“More.” Blaise said it like a command, but he couldn’t help glancing to Draco for confirmation before moving. The blond nodded, even though his expression was still tight and pinched. Harry held his breath and skimmed his fingers up to Draco’s wrist before looping down to the back of that pale hand. For some reason, the skin on skin contact felt absolutely exquisite. He didn’t pretend to understand, and maybe it was because Draco was clearly so uncomfortable with the idea of physical contact but was trusting him with it anyways.

“More.” Again, he looked to Draco for confirmation. A nod, and then he was running his fingers over Draco’s palm again and feeling the texture of each finger. He knew he should be focused on Draco, but he couldn’t help trying to memorize the pattern of every fingerprint and every inch of skin that he could touch. There was something intoxicating about this whole situation… 

The calluses on Draco’s palm were identical to his own—seeker’s calluses—and that alone was more of a connection than they’d ever shared before. He let his hand wander, feeling every ridge on the blond’s knuckles and settling on his right ring finger. There was a thick, twisted line of scar tissue in what seemed like the shape of a ring? What kind of scar was that? He looked up in question, only to see the most peaceful expression that he’d ever seen on Draco’s face. Those gorgeous grey eyes blinked at him, slowly and steadily, with not an ounce of fear. 

“My signet ring. I was wearing it when he used the Cruciatus curse on me for the first time. The metal conducted the magic, thus the burns.” Harry nodded, but didn’t ask why he wasn’t wearing the ring now or who had used the curse on him. He didn’t let himself react to that statement, either. This entire dynamic felt far too fragile for anything but complete calm and he was terrified that he would snap the Slytherin out of whatever trance he was in if he so much as opened his mouth. 

Still, that was more information—and far more personal information—than Draco had ever shared with anyone that he knew of. Was it because of the contact? Draco had been so tense at first and, honestly, he hadn’t been much better in the nerves department but now the blond looked so relaxed it was as if he’d been drugged. And Harry… Harry felt like touching Draco, in the most innocent way possible, was his new drug of choice. 

He heard Blaise and Hermione speaking to each other in hushed tones, but even that felt far away now. The only thing he could manage to focus on was Draco’s expression.  _ Beautiful _ was the only word to describe it. He hadn’t seen the blond look so relaxed or so carefree in years and he wouldn’t have noticed the difference, except that this Draco looked so much… younger. Draco was watching him now, too, and his eyes tracked the movement of his hand without a hint of distrust. Since when did Draco trust him?

Never, and he knew that Draco never would trust him but the illusion was still nice while it lasted. Blaise and Hermione were still whispering. They were more background noise at this point than anything to actually listen to, though, and Harry watched in awe as Draco moved his hand a bit. It wasn’t to pull away, though. 

Instead, Draco pressed his fingers ever so gently against Harry’s palm and the effect was electric beneath his skin. Harry was careful not to react, but he felt it. He tried to tell himself it was just his sudden sexual awakening or the fact that Draco was finally human in his eyes but it wasn’t, and he knew it wasn’t. Maybe Draco was attractive now because he was real but that wasn’t what made his skin feel like a soothing balm to Harry’s nerves. Draco had never once put him at ease before, and Harry could distinctly remember when the blond had had the opposite effect, but things had changed since then. So many things had changed… 

“You alright, Drake?” Blaise called them out of their little trance, but Draco surprisingly didn’t come to his senses. He didn’t flinch or recoil, and he didn’t move away. He didn’t even break eye contact, actually, and he almost seemed more intent on keeping the physical contact than he’d been before Blaise had spoken. 

“Yeah.” It was short, but not angry. Anyone could see that Draco was far from upset or anxious, or at least Harry could see that. The only question was why. 

“Harry?” Hermione, then, and he was tempted to look at her but he didn’t want to be the one to break what they had. He just nodded. 

“I’m okay, ‘Mione.” And he was. For the first time in Harry’s memory, he was completely okay. His mind wasn’t racing, he wasn’t drowning in the wake of some disaster, and he wasn’t struggling with the dread of something bad to come. He just… was. For some reason, skin to skin contact with Draco was the one thing that managed to clear his mind and ground him like nothing else ever had. 

Maybe it was because Draco was letting him see this—not that he had much choice—or maybe it was because Draco had relaxed at his touch rather than recoil but Harry was completely invested now. There was no backing out. Not when the blond’s eyes were such a beautiful shade of grey and not when he could simply trace a scar and receive an explanation for it. Maybe he was just glad to have something to focus on other than Voldemort, but his mind was clinging to it. Why did Draco trust him? Why did he relax, why did he hate being touched so much, and who had dared to use an Unforgivable Curse on him?

“I’m okay.” He said it again, though he wasn’t sure why, but that time felt more significant. It wasn’t for Hermione or Blaise. That time, it was specifically and exclusively for Draco to hear, like some kind of reassurance. An acknowledgement that Harry saw the Slytherin’s vulnerability and anxiety surrounding this whole idea and was not going to use it against him. He understood that Draco liked the contact, even if he didn’t—or wouldn’t—say it, and was okay with that. And maybe, just maybe, it was a reassurance that he liked the contact too. 


End file.
